For the figure of Holden, wafer-thin and insubstantial as a husk from which all the living goodness had been drained, as a leech ingests the blood of its victim, turned from the wall with a harsh paper-like rustle. It twisted in my hand and the horrified face of Holden, perfect in all its detail as to hair and eyes and skin, began to buckle and disintegrate in the wavering yellow light of my lantern while all the time there came a high, shrill scream from the slightly parted lips, like the hiss of escaping air.
And hideously and inexorably the disembowelled shell that once was Holden twisted and collapsed like the nauseous bag of wind and tissue that it was and the flabby, sac-like thing was finally reduced to a grey, shrivelled bag of skin no bigger than my fist which would assuredly have blown away along the corridor had there been any wind to carry it. All that remained, apart from a hank of hair, the shrivelled skin and the clothes, were the ten toenails and the ten fingernails of our friend.
I myself descended into shrieking, gibbering madness then and it was only half an hour later that I came to myself, after Scarsdale had literally slapped me into sensibility. I came round to find myself propped against the wall of the tunnel with the bearded form of Scarsdale above me. He was pouring raw brandy down my throat and as I coughed and puked my way back to consciousness, I saw him gulp a tot of the raw spirit down his own throat. Otherwise he seemed as strong and imperturbable as ever, as he lifted me solicitously and helped me into a standing position. I found my revolver thrust back into my hand while Scarsdale said over and over again in my ear, as one might to a drowning man, 'Everything is all right, my dear fellow. Everything is all right.'
He repeated the words slowly and simply as though the sense of them might take some time to penetrate — as indeed it did — and as if the simple repetition might, of itself, be sufficient to dispel the black nightmare of horror in which we now found ourselves.
For there was worse to follow and it was only over the next hour, as I calmed and Scarsdale's words began to make more sense, that I realised we must go back yet again. Back into those tunnels of abomination towards the region of the Great White Space, where lurked the insubstantial monadelphous creatures whose bleating cry we had such cause to fear. But as my nerves recovered and I grew stronger I realised that Scarsdale was right. Van Damm was alive — or had been but a short while before — and assuredly needed our help.
I retched again as I thought of what he might even now be suffering and this in itself underpinned my resolve. Assisted by the raw spirit I again found my strength and I believe myself to have been in those last hours once again the man Scarsdale had taken me for long ago in that far-off tea room by the British Museum; in another world, another age it now seemed to me. For as I lay in babbling madness Scarsdale had again heard shots far off down the tunnel, back in the direction from which we had come and had then heard Van Damm's choked cry for help.
Knowing him as I did I believe he would have set off alone at that instant, armed only with his revolver and a few rounds of ammunition, had it not been for leaving me helpless and unprotected in that spot. In which case I should assuredly have joined Holden and Prescott in death; I owe Scarsdale my life not once but many times and though the gift of existence has become a tortured burden to me in these latter years, I did not then know to what I would latterly be reduced and I was brimming full of gratitude and hope during the first few minutes of my newly recovered sanity, before I was fully cognisant that we must return.
Yet, when my senses were fully restored, I was as eager as Scarsdale to see what we could do to effect the rescue of the unfortunate Van Damm. Would not I have been demented had I been in Van Damm's position and imagined that we knew he was alive and were doing nothing to attempt his rescue? We had to go; I knew this as well as Scarsdale and I soon made him see that I realised the duty we owed to our tragic companion. He clapped me silently on the shoulder and then we set to to assess the situation.
First we prepared a quick meal and ate it as we stripped down the trolley; it was many hours since we had eaten and we would be worse than useless if we did not keep up our strength. It was unlikely that the ten minutes we spent on this would make much difference either way but even if it had we could not have prepared ourselves more quickly as we had to discard many items from the trolley's load in order to make better speed.
Reluctantly, we discarded the elephant guns. They had made little impression on the jelly-creatures and were taking up disproportionate weight in the small vehicle which, with one twisted axle, was now extremely awkward to manoeuvre with such a heavy load as we had been carrying.
Too late, we wished we had more Very flares and more grenades; the latter, more than anything seemed to be effective, though of course, neither of us really knew whether the creatures could be killed or even temporarily stopped. I myself felt that fire might be the answer; if we had petrol here we might have made a small lake and, leading the creatures on to it, have ignited the fuel by lobbing grenades into it. But there was no chance of that; we had no petrol so it was useless to speculate further on such lines. There were but two dozen grenades left and we would have to make effective use of them. So, the trolley lightened, Scarsdale and I looked meaningly at one another and for the second time set back along the tunnel for the Great White Space and the outer corridors of hell.
The light slowly grew and the throbbing pulsations with it. Scarsdale and I walked purposefully but with all our senses anaesthetised; neither of us cared to talk of the fears haunting the edges of our minds. Indeed, we hardly dared hint even to ourselves what might be waiting in the slowly growing light at the end of the tunnel. We had heard or seen nothing in ten minutes since we had started. The going was uphill again but the trolley was lighter now and giving no trouble, though it was making more noise than either of us would have liked.
Both of us had checked the revolvers hanging at our belts; my pockets were stuffed with cartridges and two Very pistols sat on the load in the trolley, near to my hand. Scarsdale's belt seemed to bristle with weapons; strangely enough, I had forgotten to ask him where he had obtained his most bizarre find. This was an old naval cutlass in a brass and leather scabbard which now jogged reassuringly at his hip. Strangely enough, this museum piece might be more useful to us than a machine-gun in face of our weird adversaries.
Had our companions been issued with them, there might have been a very different outcome to the past twelve hours. Though who could have foreseen such creatures; even Scarsdale, with his greater knowledge, could not have imagined such beings. I preferred myself to keep them firmly within my mind as natural phenomena existing within the subterranean depths of the earth. I could not grasp the mathematical complexities involved in assuming that somehow, space could be bent so that a door to the stars could exist many miles below the surface of the earth. Scarsdale could have spent weeks with a blackboard and chalk and I should have been none the wiser. But I was slowly coming round to the idea, as horrifying and outrageous as it might appear.
The light grew and my thoughts, despite my resolve to keep a blank mind, constantly revolved around such suppositions as our progress gradually took us back into the area of strengthening light. The pulsations grew also and then we had crossed the old slime trails of our previous penetration. Like Scarsdale I had tied a handkerchief around my throat and I now put it across my nose and mouth to blot out some of the nauseous stench. The goggles were pushed up to my forehead and I lowered the smoked glass over my eyes as white fingers of extra-terrestrial origin began to probe at the far distance.